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Fic: A Good Day (or: The War in the Medusa Cascade). Chapter 6
And this is where everything gets turned upside down... I don't really know what else to say. It's strange to post something after having planned it for years.
Previous parts here for anyone who is wanting to catch up:
Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5
And Master post for the whole 'verse here.
Summary: "Why is it only ever the bad guys who have a proper plan?" The Master's son finally meets the Daleks. And he thought it a good day. (TSE/JE rewrite with Eleven and Clara and a host of extras.)
Setting: Future AU TSE/JE.
Spoilers: The Name of the Doctor (S7.13)
Rating: PG-13.
Characters: The Seeker (OC, the Master's son), Eleventh Doctor, Clara, the Master, Jack, River, Roda (OC), Davros, others.
Beta: The always lovely![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kathyh. (Any mistakes mine!)
Thank yous: Tothe_redjay for the loan of Roda.
Feedback: I am not too proud to beg...
Chapter 6
As the whole ensemble stared at the Master in mute shock, Roda carefully made sure that she melted into the shadows. All her instincts had been telling her to run ever since the Seeker had let them out of the holding cells (and this latest, very unwelcome, development only reinforced that impulse) but her long and often painful life had taught her a very important lesson: If possible, keep your enemies in sight.
And one look at the Master had ensured that she wasn’t going to let him out of her sight until she knew exactly what he was up to…
She still had nightmares from the time he’d tried to execute her by hanging, waking in the night, the memory grasping her with cold, hard hands; looking at him now she could once more feel a noose tightening - although one of a very different kind.
During The Year That Never Was, she and Jack (and the Jones family too, of course) had learned to differentiate between the Master’s moods to the point where something as simple as a raised eyebrow could indicate what kind of day they were in for - knowledge that she was now grateful to have.
There was Angry!Master, who - despite having a tendency to lash out at whatever was nearest - was generally unfocussed in his fury, more concerned with whatever had gone wrong than the hurt he was inflicting.
There was Bored!Master who could be casually cruel, but would lose interest soon enough.
But worse than both these combined was Happy!Master. Happy!Master wanted to celebrate and could usually think of no better way of celebrating than causing more pain to his enemies. Happy!Master was always focussed outwards, paying attention to them with the care and attention of a sadistic lover.
Worst of all was Happy!Master-with-something-up-his-sleeve. Not because the pain itself was quantitatively worse - no, it was the absolute knowledge that pain he was currently inflicting would be overshadowed by pain still to come - his pleasure came not from the immediate moment, but from the future developments he was contemplating. In such moments there was no use in thinking ‘This too shall pass’ because something worse was coming... Something unknown, which by the very nature of being unknowable and unspoken, lurking in the dark shadows dancing in his eyes and the corner of his smirk, was too terrible to contemplate.
As she watched him now, she shuddered.
He was holding out a cigar to his son - to match the one he was holding himself - explaining that it had been a gift from Fidel Castro and he’d saved it for a special occasion.
The Seeker took it greedily, exclaiming that he needed something like this more than he could explain, and his father’s appearance seemed like a godsend - possibly literally?
The Master smiled and brought out a lighter, and as the light fluttered across their faces Roda's fists clenched and unclenched unconsciously, the strain of keeping her frustration to herself only showing in little physical signs.
There was no doubt about it. This was Happy!Master-with-something-up-his-sleeve. He was pleased with what had happened, but he was very clearly looking ahead to something else, something which had him practically humming with joy. She’d not seen him like this since The Year That Never Was - the sheer swagger and confidence was hard to miss - and the sight made her want to run so fast and so far that no one would ever find her.
Yet she couldn’t - not without first finding out what he was hiding.
The Seeker was smiling, happy and relaxed and surprised, not understanding the danger Roda could see, and the Doctor was practically hugging his TARDIS, clearly too overwhelmed to notice the things unspoken. River looked sceptical, but she had never had the Master as adversary, and didn’t know his hidden depths.
Poor Clara had obviously met him before and had scooted over next to River, eyeing the Master warily. (Clever girl, Roda thought - River was probably the one person the Master wouldn’t challenge.)
But Jack had also stepped back, shooting Roda a look. He saw it too. But what could they do?
“Go on Dad - spit it out. How did you survive?” The Seeker took a drag of the cigar, the nicotine clearly helping him calm down after the recent emotional upheavals, and an easy, open smile on his face. (No, he didn’t see it at all...)
“All in good time, son,” the Master replied, half-turning to let his eyes pass over the Doctor and doing a mocking double-take.
“Doctor - goodness gracious me, you look rather peaky. I thought I might at least get a thank you for saving your wonky box.”
There was a beat as the Doctor just watched the two of them, silent, his face closed and cautious, and the Seeker sighed.
“I broke his hearts...” He waved a hand around, encompassing the destruction, the Toclafane, the war displayed on the screen, before continuing: “He’s... not feeling too good.”
“Oh really?” the Master replied, raising an eyebrow. “Well done boy, it was way past time. So sentimental, the silly old fool. Although speaking of fools - is that Davros I spy?”
As he sauntered over to the trapped Kaled, Roda had to forcibly stop herself from killing them both there and then. She’d thought she’d been rid of the Master, and she was still trying to process the fact that he was back. And Davros... Well, he most certainly would not leave the Crucible still alive.
The Master leaned forward, tapped the holding cell.
“Hello there Davros. How do you like my son? Rather a chip off the old block, don’t you think? A question for you: How many Time Lords does it take to beat the Daleks?”
He smiled wickedly, before answering himself:
“Only one, presuming it’s the right one.”
Inwardly Roda sighed deeply, and then muttered, so quietly that only Jack could hear:
"Oh good, pleasantries aside now we're onto terrible jokes. Makes a change from all the heartbreak I suppose. Let’s have fun with the slavery and genocide."
Jack shot her a dark look, but didn’t offer a comment of his own. He knew her moods very well indeed by now.
Davros began ranting again, more furious than ever, but the Master merely laughed. If he’d been in his previous regeneration he’d probably have skipped or danced at this point, but the new incarnation was a touch more sober.
Stroking his beard, he eventually shrugged and turned his back on the raging lunatic, and seemed to practically glide back over to his son.
“Since you asked so nicely about my very fortuitous case of continued existence, Lord Seeker, I shall let you in on a secret: Self-preservation can overcome almost anything. In the wonky box’s case, it meant that she chose to let me out so I could help her escape, rather than be immolated. Got out of Dodge with no time to spare and decided to stay out of the fray - figured if they’d immobilised a TARDIS once they could do it twice. And it’s rare that the Doctor doesn’t think of some way of blowing them all up... Of course, I was still planning on riding to the rescue if necessary, but - just as I was busy trying to tap into the Crucible’s systems - suddenly they started broadcasting! And whom should I see but my very own beloved son, singing my tune...”
The Seeker’s cigar paused halfway to his mouth.
“You saw?”
“Son, never has a father been so proud, trust me. It was... beautiful.”
He looked around, beaming.
“Truly, I shall have to declare this the Best Day Ever!”
The Seeker smiled, clearly delighted, even as his eyes narrowed somewhat as he carefully took a drag of the cigar, slowly letting the smoke escape from his lips.
“You been waiting for this since I was sixteen, haven’t you?”
The Master smirked, eyes filled with malicious satisfaction.
“Good things come to those who wait.”
The Seeker’s smile was by now a far too close echo of his father’s and Roda wished she could steal him away for good. Things had been going... if not well, then at least towards some sort of serious discussion of the issues. But with the Master’s reappearance she began to worry about her lover (former lover, she corrected sadly) in earnest - of course she trusted him, and yet... What did his father have planned?
“Well I’m glad someone appreciates today,” the Seeker said, voice neutral, yet Roda’s face hardened. She cared too much to let this go. She’d have to say something-
At that point the whole of the Crucible suddenly shook, and the Seeker swore loudly.
“Dammit! Harvey, what’s happening?”
Within seconds he’d hooked up ‘Bonnie’ and ‘Clyde’ to a terminal as he opened up more screens, getting an overview of the situation, face growing serious.
“Princess - go blow up the Supreme Dalek. It’s getting clever and I don’t like it. Harvey, if you move more than five inches away from me, I’m throwing you in the nearest black hole. Now - information. There are billions of you, how the hell-”
The Crucible shook again, and they could see Davros cackling to himself in his silent prison.
Scanning all the information, the Seeker’s eyes narrowed.
“Yes, very clever. Davros, I salute you. However I’ve been preparing for this my whole life, so don’t you worry, I’ll exterminate you yet...”
He looked around at them, calculating.
“River - keep an eye on this for a moment? I just need you to hold them back, very straightforward. Harvey, do whatever she says.”
A beat, then River shrugged acquiescence and after a couple of pointers seemed happy enough.
The Seeker then turned to Jack:
“Give me your wrist.” As he held it out, the Seeker aimed his laser and then focussed on Jack carefully:
“Right. I’ve fixed the vortex manipulator so you can get out of the time pocket easily. I need my TARDIS and the weapons from Plan 27 and 48. Wait - is Princess back yet?”
He turned, just as the Toclafane in question popped back into the gloomy vault.
“Mission accomplished? Excellent. Jack - take Princess with you, she’ll be able to explain the modifications.”
For a moment Jack didn’t move and the Seeker frowned, studying him with evident confusion.
“Jack?”
A beat, then Jack seemed to snap out of whatever had been bothering him, and Roda could see the friend disappearing beneath the Captain. (And Captain Harkness followed orders...)
“Yes. Of course. Be right back.”
He vanished in a flash, leaving the Seeker scratching his head, before swiftly rejoining River.
She smiled.
“This is fun.”
“That’s what I’ve been saying all along!” he replied, smiling back, eyes dancing. “And in a second Jack’ll bring the big guns. I think you’ll like them.”
“I’m sure I will,” she purred before being interrupted by the Master who was now busy pulling a deck chair out from the TARDIS.
“Don’t mind me,” he said, opening it with ease and settling himself down. “I’m just here as a spectator.”
But Roda didn’t miss the look he sent the Seeker’s way once the younger Time Lord was busy again. The sheer intensity of the gaze made her almost forget the battle outside, and she took another step back, bumping into the wall behind her, wishing she knew what to do...
Right now she was sure of only one thing - the worst was most definitely still to come.
~~~
The Doctor felt the TARDIS against his back, the hum of ancient power seeping into him like life itself, even as a single thought had become unavoidable:
'The war is won, but the child is lost'
The words had gained new meaning - unintended by the original poet, whoever he or she or they had been - yet relevant. He watched River and the Seeker, effortlessly working together... Watched Jack return with the Seeker’s TARDIS (it had a preference for looking like a tree, the branches now scraping the vault’s low ceiling awkwardly), watched the Seeker smartly and skillfully ordering his troops as if it was all he’d ever done, as well as deploy the weapons Jack had brought with surety and expertise, and - with River and Jack’s support - successfully battling back the Dalek onslaught - calm, competent, in control.
’A child is not a weapon…’
Except he had become one. Little Melody had been stolen and manipulated, but his Alex (not his, not his, never his, the Master never missing an opportunity to remind him of this)... He had tried his utmost to raise him with love and support and an understanding of right and wrong, in spite of the Master’s poisonous influence - an influence the boy had always distanced himself from...
How had he gotten it so wrong? How had he never seen this coming?
Because this wasn’t sudden. This wasn’t opportunistic. This wasn’t something isolated. This was meticulous planning and careful preparation. For war. ‘His whole life’ he’d said... The almost casual deployment of other (older) weapons bore this out, as did his clear expectation of Jack’s co-operation and knowledge. And the quips they traded pointed to a rich history of fighting…
"Yes, from the back, but… sideways - you know, like that time on Persimmon 3? But without the purple baboons, obviously."
"Purple baboons?" River asked, curious and charmed, and the Seeker laughed.
"The baboons were... incidental. But we took out two legions in less than five minutes. I'm sure you'll recognise the move..."
Comfortable. That’s what he was. Comfortable being in charge, comfortable killing his adversaries. No hesitation or moral worries, he was manoeuvring and deploying his troops and weapons with ease, laser in one hand, cigar in the other (except when he needed a free hand)...
What could the Doctor do, but watch?
The Master interrupted his thoughts, looking up from his deck chair, yet uncannily echoing his musings.
"Marvellous, isn't he? Makes me feel old, truth be told, watching the next generation. Mind you, if he keeps this up you could retire, Doctor. Come, grab a chair..."
The Doctor shook his head mutely.
He knew that war would always be his sign. Trenzalore hung over him, and his death would come on a battlefield... Retirement wasn’t an option. He rubbed his face, tired. Had he been blind, foolish? Had this always been where the boy would end up? He remembered thinking how the lad had seemed to bring himself up, always going his own way - had he taken the wrong cues, misunderstood something along the way?
(Nature versus nurture... Had he been fighting a losing battle from the start? The Master was so quiet that he knew he should be worried, but he didn’t have the mental capacity to wonder why the other wasn’t gloating more.)
Clara had scooted along to him as he stood there, watching silently next to him, eyes wide and giving little away. When she eventually spoke, voice barely above a whisper so the Master wouldn’t hear, he found that she, too, echoed his thoughts:
“Is this what that prophecy meant? ‘Don’t trust him, he is his father’s son’... That thing about his birthright...”
(The unspoken question beneath the words clear enough: Is this good or bad? You seem unhappy, but if it’s bad why are you not doing anything?)
Why wasn’t he?
“I suppose so,” he replied lightly, “Prophecies are… tricky things.”
She frowned, still not happy.
“But he’s killing the Daleks. Surely that’s good? Even if those… sphere things…” She stopped briefly, biting her lip. “Were those what the woman was thinking of? She said ‘God save you’.”
He didn’t have an answer. Maybe it had all been a veiled message for him? They had known who he was, after all. Had known that he would probably run. But no gods could have saved him from this...
Eventually, victory came. Yet the Doctor felt no joy, no satisfaction.
(Jack and River and the Seeker were laughing and highfiving, elated, saying how they needed some champagne. The Master called out to them, saying he’d throw a party, with dancing girls and everything.)
The child he’d known (or thought he had known) was gone for good. He had done what he thought was his best, yet had somehow failed. And it was much, much too late for regrets...
All he could do now was to deal with the man he felt he was seeing for the first time.
When the Seeker walked up to him, beaming, he slowly laced his fingers together, studying him calmly.
“Congratulations Seeker... I believe you have just committed genocide.”
The Seeker took a drag of his cigar, almost smirking.
“I have, haven’t I? Do I get a club card? Is there a secret handshake?”
The Doctor’s face darkened.
“Don’t be flip with me. Genocide is a burden that is not easy to carry. Blood and anger and revenge... They will soak into you in ways you cannot imagine, stains that will never come out. All I ever wanted was to spare you that.”
He spread his hands, a bitter smile on his face. “But it’s too late for that now... I hope you enjoy the spoils of war, you’ve certainly earned them.”
The Seeker seemed concerned at his words, even as he slowly shook his head, the elation visibly reducing.
“But what else could I have done? Please, Doctor, tell me - what can you possibly do with Daleks except kill them?”
“That’s not the point and you know it!” the Doctor snapped back, and the Seeker’s eyes narrowed, as he took a slow drag of the cigar, clearly weighing something in his mind.
Then, having made some sort of decision, he deposited the laser screwdriver in a pocket, ignoring (or unaware) of the Doctor’s suppressed flinch. The instinctual way in which the young Time Lord used the weapon spoke of long and continuous use, to such an extent that he obviously no longer called to mind its origins.
The Doctor - for a single, wistful moment - recalled the vivid red of Amy’s hair, and how the Seeker had in some ways echoed his Pond in his previous (second) regeneration, with his copper hair all aflame. But the colourful sharp brightness (with attendant sharpness of clothing and temperament) had somehow given way to someone mostly dressed in black, the only colour to leaven the ensemble the cool green of his eyes… The Doctor had accused him of looking like a villain when he’d first picked him up. How little he’d expected this outcome...
The Seeker sighed, disturbing his train of thought.
"Listen Doctor - about before... We got interrupted, and I think we often... talk past each other. I know you’ll be beating yourself up right now, but it’s nothing you said, or anything you could have done differently. It’s just that, with me, ‘Do as I say, not as I do’ was never, ever going to work. Because when it comes down to it, you are the man who’ll throw the child in the volcano to save the village-”
As the Doctor opened his mouth, the Seeker held up a hand.
“And no, this isn’t about Gallifrey, or the Daleks, or whatever other example you can drag up. It’s about me. You did it to me.”
“You...” he said softly, not understanding. “When did I ever-”
The Seeker was holding his eyes, voice oddly gentle.
“I was born in a paradox. You broke it. Time reversed. It was nothing but pure luck that those of us in the very centre were protected.”
Everything had gone very quiet, and the Doctor felt as if time had suddenly come unstuck. He could still remember the Master’s rage, the pure fury that lain dormant for centuries now...
“You could have killed him - unmade him! You nearly destroyed my son, Doctor - I swear I’ll get you for this! I wish I’d killed all your precious humans and you too! Just wait - one day... one day I’ll get my revenge! Do you hear me?”
He glanced at the Master now, saw him savour this moment, the silently malicious satisfaction somehow worse than any spoken words.
The earlier shock had been out of the blue - but this was something he'd done his best to push out of his mind for so long that he thought he might have escaped... It had driven a new wedge between himself and the Master, unspoken enmity deep below the surface that could be communicated in its entirety in a single look or gesture. (You could have killed him. Like you killed your own family, everyone you loved. And you dare call yourself a hero?) He’d wondered when the other would play the card… Never guessing it’d be the boy himself.
But there was nothing for it.
"There wasn't another way," he said, and the Seeker's face registered something between relief and exasperation.
"That's what I've been trying to say!" the Seeker replied, with more feeling than usual, then continued, green eyes no longer cold or angry:
"Sometimes there is no choice. I won't pretend that it wasn't a harsh lesson to take on board - it's not all that easy for an eight year old to face up to the fact that he's expendable, that the man he loves like a father would sacrifice him if necessary... But maybe I needed it. Considering that daddy dearest here would probably burn galaxies for me. Doctor - your way was the sane, sensible option. Relatively speaking I mean. I might not have taken from your lessons what you intended, but when I say you taught me well - teaching me to disregard emotions and do what needs to be done - I truly mean that as a compliment."
Before the Doctor could reply to this (it wasn’t an apology, but maybe they could still mend the bridges he’d thought torn down, maybe he could still reach the boy beneath the man), the Master yawned with great exaggeration.
“Well this has all been... Incredibly dull. Well the fighting was fun, but drivelling on about the past quite frankly makes me wish for more Daleks to show up. Son, could I have a word in private?”
The Seeker studied him blankly.
“Um, sure... Not sure there is such a thing as private - unless you want to nip into a TARDIS. Will a corner do?”
“Oh yes,” the Master replied, not put out in the least, and the Seeker followed, as the Doctor (with silent, but deep, satisfaction) noticed that the young man’s face had instantly adopted the long-suffering look he always wore when either the Doctor or the Master wanted to ‘have a word’ - meaning that he’d do his best to stay polite whilst silently counting the rels until they’d said their piece and he could tell whichever one it was that he definitely, absolutely, would think about it, yes, honestly, before escaping. When he’d been young he’d not coped very well with the two of them fighting over him, but age had allowed him to view the whole business with weary detachment.
Somehow it was more reassuring than anything else that day. Despite the heartbreak, the youngster had engaged with the Doctor, tried reasoning and explaining…
As he smiled at Clara, feeling optimistic that everything would yet work out, somehow (the boy might have grown into a man he barely recognised, but it was a man willing to at least listen) Roda stepped forward, grim faced and wary, with swift motions gathering them all.
When she spoke, voicing her fears, the Doctor’s brief spell of happiness vanished.
River looked unconvinced by Roda’s words of warning, but Jack was resolutely in Roda’s camp, and the Doctor could feel the pieces fall into place - after all he’d wondered why the Master had been so placid…
“Do you have any idea what exactly he might be planning?” he asked, as Clara hugged herself closer and clearly wanted to just go home. He couldn’t blame her - this was not what he had planned or promised.
Roda shook her head.
“It could be anything… Maybe he thinks the Toclafane can still be used as a fighting force, he probably isn’t aware of the paradox. Or he could have rigged something up in your TARDIS, you should double check everything. Twice. Or he might have sent a message to his lackeys on Earth - he’s been plotting something for a long time, posing as a politician. There’s a good chunk of unaccounted for time… He’ll probably want the Seeker to join in, today must have been like a godsend...”
But as Roda spoke, laying out possibilities, the Doctor found that her words faded away into a blur as he looked up and saw the Master and his son.
The Seeker’s weary resignation was evaporating as his father spoke, the look on his face slowly morphing into a strange breathless excitement that the Doctor had only seen once before, back when the boy had been sixteen and his father had gifted him his own planet.
And if the Doctor knew one thing is was this - the boy should never look like that when looking at his father.
The others noticed his silence and turned to see what he was looking at.
“What the hell is he saying to him?” Jack asked, as disturbed as the Doctor, as the Master reached out, kindly and concerned, laying a hand on his son’s arm, clearly making sure he was OK. The Seeker nodded, although he still looked so stunned that a feather could probably knock him over.
The Doctor, by now both deeply worried and angry, decided to take matters into his own hands and walked forwards.
“Master,” he said, voice low and serious. “Enough. I’m happy that you survived, obviously, but you could at least have the decency to wait more than 5 minutes before putting some new plan into action.”
The Master turned, studying him coolly - almost pityingly.
“Plan? What plan? Doctor dearest, you are completely misunderstanding the situation. I have no plan whatsoever. Indeed, I’ve thrown all the old ones out the window. You see, what I do have... is a son.”
Switching their attention to the younger Time Lord, the Master held up a hand.
“Please, give him a moment. I’ve just made all his dreams come true, I think he’ll need a minute or two to take it onboard.”
Indeed the Seeker was leaning against one of the dead Daleks, staring into nothingness, clearly a million miles away. Then, eyes narrowing a fraction, he whispered ‘Jerusalem’ to himself as the tiniest smile graced his lips. This made little sense, except the Doctor noticed how Jack seemed struck by the word... And then slowly shook his head, even as he swallowed, pale.
“No,” he whispered, eyes suddenly going wide. “No. No it can’t be. That’s… not possible.”
But he looked more disturbed than the Doctor had seen.
“Jack?”
But Jack was already striding over to the Seeker.
Reaching out, he almost shook the youngster, the hint of despair that the Doctor could see immensely unnerving.
“Seeker. Please. Please tell me this isn’t what I think it is.”
The Seeker slowly focussed on him, as if seeing him from far, far away, and then smiled. A wide, bright happy smile, almost breathtaking in its pure joy.
“It is - and it isn’t. It’s...” he looked up and round at them all, as if suddenly noticing that they were there:
“Let me show you!”
He jumped up, and in two strides was by the control panel where a swift tap freed Dalek Caan of its holding cell. It took them a moment to realise that this was what had happened, and by then the Seeker was almost skipping across the central space, before he knelt down by the deformed creature, one knee on the floor, as they all looked at each other, puzzled and worried. What the hell had the Master said?
“Dalek Caan, you wonderful creature,” the Seeker said, voice brimming with emotion. “There is a prophecy, a golden prophecy, bright and shining - you spoke part of it earlier, and I silenced you. I’m sorry, I didn’t understand. I’ve been running from it for centuries, never imagining a day like today... Tell them - tell them my name, my destiny.”
He reached up his hand, and the Dalek wrapped one of its tentacles around his fingers as he smiled...
~~~
The Seeker felt the Dalek wrap its tentacle around his hand, and he wondered if maybe he could read its thoughts. You shouldn’t know your future, and yet… What incredible secrets did Caan yet hold? (The Dalek had seen time - not just what could be, but what would be… Golden futures, past and present. Knowledge that might burn, but oh, it was a price worth paying.)
Although first he needed to make the others see. Show them that he wasn’t going mad, that it was real. Real and wonderful and possibly magical. (He felt giddy, as if drunk on the sheer idea of possibilities… Had felt like this before when grasped by a new idea, but never like this. Never on this scale.)
And then Caan spoke:
“As you wish Tsesarevich - Child of Two Worlds, Son of Empire. I have seen many things, terror and beauty. I have seen your power lighting the sky - shining. Much, much power, and all the worlds will know your name. You are the Alexander the Great. A Mighty King and Ruler across the universe. Yes. That is your destiny."
He stood, still grasping the Dalek. A Dalek had shown him the way. He had never foreseen this. Time… truly was a wonderful thing. The others (even Jack) looked shocked and angry and scared, but all he could hear was the Toclafane, singing, their voices reverberating through the hull of the Crucible...
We are the Toclafane
We are the saviours of worlds
We vanquished the Daleks in the Medusa Cascade
Our songs will live forever
(They could sing? He hadn’t known that… New things, new wonderful things wherever he turned. Everything he had ever known turning upside down in the blink of an eye; in a handful of sentences from his father...)
Reflecting on the familiar words of the prophecy (he’d had nightmares for so long, waking in the night, terrified of what his future might hold), he realised that he had (until now) always seen the seizing of power as something violent, forcefully imposing his will on others and bending them to his will. Or alternatively as something sly and stealthy, like the Archangel network. Controlling. Manipulative.
Neither option one he relished or wanted to embrace.
But now...
He was the saviour of worlds. The universe would tell of him - the Last Child of Gallifrey, a hero as if out of a fairy tale; a golden prince. Waiting quietly in the shadows until the appointed hour.
The path to the throne was paved for him, all he needed to do was step forward. Here I am, what do you want? It was his choice and they would welcome him.
Slowly re-focussing on the present, he found himself looking into the Doctor’s face.
The Doctor looked more serious than he could remember, his grey eyes watchful and dangerous. The way he looked at adversaries, unspoken threats filling the air between them. (Why would he look like that? Didn’t he understand? Couldn’t he see?)
“Seeker. Please tell me you’re not seriously considering taking over the universe.”
But in his mind the Seeker could see new time lines fanning out, too many to count, too many to grasp. It was so simple - he just had to stretch out his hand, and peace, prosperity, order would ripple out across all the worlds from his fingertips. The vision was seared into him, indelible and so stunningly beautiful that it almost hurt. (Truth hurts, that had been his first real lesson. But better pain, than a lie. Truth might hurt, but it also set you free.)
Time - all there was, all there would be. And his.
He met the Doctor’s eyes head-on, bright golden purpose filling him so completely he could barely breathe from pure joy.
“Why not? After all, it is my birthright...”
Chapter 7.
Previous parts here for anyone who is wanting to catch up:
Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5
And Master post for the whole 'verse here.
Summary: "Why is it only ever the bad guys who have a proper plan?" The Master's son finally meets the Daleks. And he thought it a good day. (TSE/JE rewrite with Eleven and Clara and a host of extras.)
Setting: Future AU TSE/JE.
Spoilers: The Name of the Doctor (S7.13)
Rating: PG-13.
Characters: The Seeker (OC, the Master's son), Eleventh Doctor, Clara, the Master, Jack, River, Roda (OC), Davros, others.
Beta: The always lovely
kathyh. (Any mistakes mine!)Thank yous: To
the_redjay for the loan of Roda.Feedback: I am not too proud to beg...
Chapter 6
As the whole ensemble stared at the Master in mute shock, Roda carefully made sure that she melted into the shadows. All her instincts had been telling her to run ever since the Seeker had let them out of the holding cells (and this latest, very unwelcome, development only reinforced that impulse) but her long and often painful life had taught her a very important lesson: If possible, keep your enemies in sight.
And one look at the Master had ensured that she wasn’t going to let him out of her sight until she knew exactly what he was up to…
She still had nightmares from the time he’d tried to execute her by hanging, waking in the night, the memory grasping her with cold, hard hands; looking at him now she could once more feel a noose tightening - although one of a very different kind.
During The Year That Never Was, she and Jack (and the Jones family too, of course) had learned to differentiate between the Master’s moods to the point where something as simple as a raised eyebrow could indicate what kind of day they were in for - knowledge that she was now grateful to have.
There was Angry!Master, who - despite having a tendency to lash out at whatever was nearest - was generally unfocussed in his fury, more concerned with whatever had gone wrong than the hurt he was inflicting.
There was Bored!Master who could be casually cruel, but would lose interest soon enough.
But worse than both these combined was Happy!Master. Happy!Master wanted to celebrate and could usually think of no better way of celebrating than causing more pain to his enemies. Happy!Master was always focussed outwards, paying attention to them with the care and attention of a sadistic lover.
Worst of all was Happy!Master-with-something-up-his-sleeve. Not because the pain itself was quantitatively worse - no, it was the absolute knowledge that pain he was currently inflicting would be overshadowed by pain still to come - his pleasure came not from the immediate moment, but from the future developments he was contemplating. In such moments there was no use in thinking ‘This too shall pass’ because something worse was coming... Something unknown, which by the very nature of being unknowable and unspoken, lurking in the dark shadows dancing in his eyes and the corner of his smirk, was too terrible to contemplate.
As she watched him now, she shuddered.
He was holding out a cigar to his son - to match the one he was holding himself - explaining that it had been a gift from Fidel Castro and he’d saved it for a special occasion.
The Seeker took it greedily, exclaiming that he needed something like this more than he could explain, and his father’s appearance seemed like a godsend - possibly literally?
The Master smiled and brought out a lighter, and as the light fluttered across their faces Roda's fists clenched and unclenched unconsciously, the strain of keeping her frustration to herself only showing in little physical signs.
There was no doubt about it. This was Happy!Master-with-something-up-his-sleeve. He was pleased with what had happened, but he was very clearly looking ahead to something else, something which had him practically humming with joy. She’d not seen him like this since The Year That Never Was - the sheer swagger and confidence was hard to miss - and the sight made her want to run so fast and so far that no one would ever find her.
Yet she couldn’t - not without first finding out what he was hiding.
The Seeker was smiling, happy and relaxed and surprised, not understanding the danger Roda could see, and the Doctor was practically hugging his TARDIS, clearly too overwhelmed to notice the things unspoken. River looked sceptical, but she had never had the Master as adversary, and didn’t know his hidden depths.
Poor Clara had obviously met him before and had scooted over next to River, eyeing the Master warily. (Clever girl, Roda thought - River was probably the one person the Master wouldn’t challenge.)
But Jack had also stepped back, shooting Roda a look. He saw it too. But what could they do?
“Go on Dad - spit it out. How did you survive?” The Seeker took a drag of the cigar, the nicotine clearly helping him calm down after the recent emotional upheavals, and an easy, open smile on his face. (No, he didn’t see it at all...)
“All in good time, son,” the Master replied, half-turning to let his eyes pass over the Doctor and doing a mocking double-take.
“Doctor - goodness gracious me, you look rather peaky. I thought I might at least get a thank you for saving your wonky box.”
There was a beat as the Doctor just watched the two of them, silent, his face closed and cautious, and the Seeker sighed.
“I broke his hearts...” He waved a hand around, encompassing the destruction, the Toclafane, the war displayed on the screen, before continuing: “He’s... not feeling too good.”
“Oh really?” the Master replied, raising an eyebrow. “Well done boy, it was way past time. So sentimental, the silly old fool. Although speaking of fools - is that Davros I spy?”
As he sauntered over to the trapped Kaled, Roda had to forcibly stop herself from killing them both there and then. She’d thought she’d been rid of the Master, and she was still trying to process the fact that he was back. And Davros... Well, he most certainly would not leave the Crucible still alive.
The Master leaned forward, tapped the holding cell.
“Hello there Davros. How do you like my son? Rather a chip off the old block, don’t you think? A question for you: How many Time Lords does it take to beat the Daleks?”
He smiled wickedly, before answering himself:
“Only one, presuming it’s the right one.”
Inwardly Roda sighed deeply, and then muttered, so quietly that only Jack could hear:
"Oh good, pleasantries aside now we're onto terrible jokes. Makes a change from all the heartbreak I suppose. Let’s have fun with the slavery and genocide."
Jack shot her a dark look, but didn’t offer a comment of his own. He knew her moods very well indeed by now.
Davros began ranting again, more furious than ever, but the Master merely laughed. If he’d been in his previous regeneration he’d probably have skipped or danced at this point, but the new incarnation was a touch more sober.
Stroking his beard, he eventually shrugged and turned his back on the raging lunatic, and seemed to practically glide back over to his son.
“Since you asked so nicely about my very fortuitous case of continued existence, Lord Seeker, I shall let you in on a secret: Self-preservation can overcome almost anything. In the wonky box’s case, it meant that she chose to let me out so I could help her escape, rather than be immolated. Got out of Dodge with no time to spare and decided to stay out of the fray - figured if they’d immobilised a TARDIS once they could do it twice. And it’s rare that the Doctor doesn’t think of some way of blowing them all up... Of course, I was still planning on riding to the rescue if necessary, but - just as I was busy trying to tap into the Crucible’s systems - suddenly they started broadcasting! And whom should I see but my very own beloved son, singing my tune...”
The Seeker’s cigar paused halfway to his mouth.
“You saw?”
“Son, never has a father been so proud, trust me. It was... beautiful.”
He looked around, beaming.
“Truly, I shall have to declare this the Best Day Ever!”
The Seeker smiled, clearly delighted, even as his eyes narrowed somewhat as he carefully took a drag of the cigar, slowly letting the smoke escape from his lips.
“You been waiting for this since I was sixteen, haven’t you?”
The Master smirked, eyes filled with malicious satisfaction.
“Good things come to those who wait.”
The Seeker’s smile was by now a far too close echo of his father’s and Roda wished she could steal him away for good. Things had been going... if not well, then at least towards some sort of serious discussion of the issues. But with the Master’s reappearance she began to worry about her lover (former lover, she corrected sadly) in earnest - of course she trusted him, and yet... What did his father have planned?
“Well I’m glad someone appreciates today,” the Seeker said, voice neutral, yet Roda’s face hardened. She cared too much to let this go. She’d have to say something-
At that point the whole of the Crucible suddenly shook, and the Seeker swore loudly.
“Dammit! Harvey, what’s happening?”
Within seconds he’d hooked up ‘Bonnie’ and ‘Clyde’ to a terminal as he opened up more screens, getting an overview of the situation, face growing serious.
“Princess - go blow up the Supreme Dalek. It’s getting clever and I don’t like it. Harvey, if you move more than five inches away from me, I’m throwing you in the nearest black hole. Now - information. There are billions of you, how the hell-”
The Crucible shook again, and they could see Davros cackling to himself in his silent prison.
Scanning all the information, the Seeker’s eyes narrowed.
“Yes, very clever. Davros, I salute you. However I’ve been preparing for this my whole life, so don’t you worry, I’ll exterminate you yet...”
He looked around at them, calculating.
“River - keep an eye on this for a moment? I just need you to hold them back, very straightforward. Harvey, do whatever she says.”
A beat, then River shrugged acquiescence and after a couple of pointers seemed happy enough.
The Seeker then turned to Jack:
“Give me your wrist.” As he held it out, the Seeker aimed his laser and then focussed on Jack carefully:
“Right. I’ve fixed the vortex manipulator so you can get out of the time pocket easily. I need my TARDIS and the weapons from Plan 27 and 48. Wait - is Princess back yet?”
He turned, just as the Toclafane in question popped back into the gloomy vault.
“Mission accomplished? Excellent. Jack - take Princess with you, she’ll be able to explain the modifications.”
For a moment Jack didn’t move and the Seeker frowned, studying him with evident confusion.
“Jack?”
A beat, then Jack seemed to snap out of whatever had been bothering him, and Roda could see the friend disappearing beneath the Captain. (And Captain Harkness followed orders...)
“Yes. Of course. Be right back.”
He vanished in a flash, leaving the Seeker scratching his head, before swiftly rejoining River.
She smiled.
“This is fun.”
“That’s what I’ve been saying all along!” he replied, smiling back, eyes dancing. “And in a second Jack’ll bring the big guns. I think you’ll like them.”
“I’m sure I will,” she purred before being interrupted by the Master who was now busy pulling a deck chair out from the TARDIS.
“Don’t mind me,” he said, opening it with ease and settling himself down. “I’m just here as a spectator.”
But Roda didn’t miss the look he sent the Seeker’s way once the younger Time Lord was busy again. The sheer intensity of the gaze made her almost forget the battle outside, and she took another step back, bumping into the wall behind her, wishing she knew what to do...
Right now she was sure of only one thing - the worst was most definitely still to come.
The Doctor felt the TARDIS against his back, the hum of ancient power seeping into him like life itself, even as a single thought had become unavoidable:
'The war is won, but the child is lost'
The words had gained new meaning - unintended by the original poet, whoever he or she or they had been - yet relevant. He watched River and the Seeker, effortlessly working together... Watched Jack return with the Seeker’s TARDIS (it had a preference for looking like a tree, the branches now scraping the vault’s low ceiling awkwardly), watched the Seeker smartly and skillfully ordering his troops as if it was all he’d ever done, as well as deploy the weapons Jack had brought with surety and expertise, and - with River and Jack’s support - successfully battling back the Dalek onslaught - calm, competent, in control.
’A child is not a weapon…’
Except he had become one. Little Melody had been stolen and manipulated, but his Alex (not his, not his, never his, the Master never missing an opportunity to remind him of this)... He had tried his utmost to raise him with love and support and an understanding of right and wrong, in spite of the Master’s poisonous influence - an influence the boy had always distanced himself from...
How had he gotten it so wrong? How had he never seen this coming?
Because this wasn’t sudden. This wasn’t opportunistic. This wasn’t something isolated. This was meticulous planning and careful preparation. For war. ‘His whole life’ he’d said... The almost casual deployment of other (older) weapons bore this out, as did his clear expectation of Jack’s co-operation and knowledge. And the quips they traded pointed to a rich history of fighting…
"Yes, from the back, but… sideways - you know, like that time on Persimmon 3? But without the purple baboons, obviously."
"Purple baboons?" River asked, curious and charmed, and the Seeker laughed.
"The baboons were... incidental. But we took out two legions in less than five minutes. I'm sure you'll recognise the move..."
Comfortable. That’s what he was. Comfortable being in charge, comfortable killing his adversaries. No hesitation or moral worries, he was manoeuvring and deploying his troops and weapons with ease, laser in one hand, cigar in the other (except when he needed a free hand)...
What could the Doctor do, but watch?
The Master interrupted his thoughts, looking up from his deck chair, yet uncannily echoing his musings.
"Marvellous, isn't he? Makes me feel old, truth be told, watching the next generation. Mind you, if he keeps this up you could retire, Doctor. Come, grab a chair..."
The Doctor shook his head mutely.
He knew that war would always be his sign. Trenzalore hung over him, and his death would come on a battlefield... Retirement wasn’t an option. He rubbed his face, tired. Had he been blind, foolish? Had this always been where the boy would end up? He remembered thinking how the lad had seemed to bring himself up, always going his own way - had he taken the wrong cues, misunderstood something along the way?
(Nature versus nurture... Had he been fighting a losing battle from the start? The Master was so quiet that he knew he should be worried, but he didn’t have the mental capacity to wonder why the other wasn’t gloating more.)
Clara had scooted along to him as he stood there, watching silently next to him, eyes wide and giving little away. When she eventually spoke, voice barely above a whisper so the Master wouldn’t hear, he found that she, too, echoed his thoughts:
“Is this what that prophecy meant? ‘Don’t trust him, he is his father’s son’... That thing about his birthright...”
(The unspoken question beneath the words clear enough: Is this good or bad? You seem unhappy, but if it’s bad why are you not doing anything?)
Why wasn’t he?
“I suppose so,” he replied lightly, “Prophecies are… tricky things.”
She frowned, still not happy.
“But he’s killing the Daleks. Surely that’s good? Even if those… sphere things…” She stopped briefly, biting her lip. “Were those what the woman was thinking of? She said ‘God save you’.”
He didn’t have an answer. Maybe it had all been a veiled message for him? They had known who he was, after all. Had known that he would probably run. But no gods could have saved him from this...
Eventually, victory came. Yet the Doctor felt no joy, no satisfaction.
(Jack and River and the Seeker were laughing and highfiving, elated, saying how they needed some champagne. The Master called out to them, saying he’d throw a party, with dancing girls and everything.)
The child he’d known (or thought he had known) was gone for good. He had done what he thought was his best, yet had somehow failed. And it was much, much too late for regrets...
All he could do now was to deal with the man he felt he was seeing for the first time.
When the Seeker walked up to him, beaming, he slowly laced his fingers together, studying him calmly.
“Congratulations Seeker... I believe you have just committed genocide.”
The Seeker took a drag of his cigar, almost smirking.
“I have, haven’t I? Do I get a club card? Is there a secret handshake?”
The Doctor’s face darkened.
“Don’t be flip with me. Genocide is a burden that is not easy to carry. Blood and anger and revenge... They will soak into you in ways you cannot imagine, stains that will never come out. All I ever wanted was to spare you that.”
He spread his hands, a bitter smile on his face. “But it’s too late for that now... I hope you enjoy the spoils of war, you’ve certainly earned them.”
The Seeker seemed concerned at his words, even as he slowly shook his head, the elation visibly reducing.
“But what else could I have done? Please, Doctor, tell me - what can you possibly do with Daleks except kill them?”
“That’s not the point and you know it!” the Doctor snapped back, and the Seeker’s eyes narrowed, as he took a slow drag of the cigar, clearly weighing something in his mind.
Then, having made some sort of decision, he deposited the laser screwdriver in a pocket, ignoring (or unaware) of the Doctor’s suppressed flinch. The instinctual way in which the young Time Lord used the weapon spoke of long and continuous use, to such an extent that he obviously no longer called to mind its origins.
The Doctor - for a single, wistful moment - recalled the vivid red of Amy’s hair, and how the Seeker had in some ways echoed his Pond in his previous (second) regeneration, with his copper hair all aflame. But the colourful sharp brightness (with attendant sharpness of clothing and temperament) had somehow given way to someone mostly dressed in black, the only colour to leaven the ensemble the cool green of his eyes… The Doctor had accused him of looking like a villain when he’d first picked him up. How little he’d expected this outcome...
The Seeker sighed, disturbing his train of thought.
"Listen Doctor - about before... We got interrupted, and I think we often... talk past each other. I know you’ll be beating yourself up right now, but it’s nothing you said, or anything you could have done differently. It’s just that, with me, ‘Do as I say, not as I do’ was never, ever going to work. Because when it comes down to it, you are the man who’ll throw the child in the volcano to save the village-”
As the Doctor opened his mouth, the Seeker held up a hand.
“And no, this isn’t about Gallifrey, or the Daleks, or whatever other example you can drag up. It’s about me. You did it to me.”
“You...” he said softly, not understanding. “When did I ever-”
The Seeker was holding his eyes, voice oddly gentle.
“I was born in a paradox. You broke it. Time reversed. It was nothing but pure luck that those of us in the very centre were protected.”
Everything had gone very quiet, and the Doctor felt as if time had suddenly come unstuck. He could still remember the Master’s rage, the pure fury that lain dormant for centuries now...
“You could have killed him - unmade him! You nearly destroyed my son, Doctor - I swear I’ll get you for this! I wish I’d killed all your precious humans and you too! Just wait - one day... one day I’ll get my revenge! Do you hear me?”
He glanced at the Master now, saw him savour this moment, the silently malicious satisfaction somehow worse than any spoken words.
The earlier shock had been out of the blue - but this was something he'd done his best to push out of his mind for so long that he thought he might have escaped... It had driven a new wedge between himself and the Master, unspoken enmity deep below the surface that could be communicated in its entirety in a single look or gesture. (You could have killed him. Like you killed your own family, everyone you loved. And you dare call yourself a hero?) He’d wondered when the other would play the card… Never guessing it’d be the boy himself.
But there was nothing for it.
"There wasn't another way," he said, and the Seeker's face registered something between relief and exasperation.
"That's what I've been trying to say!" the Seeker replied, with more feeling than usual, then continued, green eyes no longer cold or angry:
"Sometimes there is no choice. I won't pretend that it wasn't a harsh lesson to take on board - it's not all that easy for an eight year old to face up to the fact that he's expendable, that the man he loves like a father would sacrifice him if necessary... But maybe I needed it. Considering that daddy dearest here would probably burn galaxies for me. Doctor - your way was the sane, sensible option. Relatively speaking I mean. I might not have taken from your lessons what you intended, but when I say you taught me well - teaching me to disregard emotions and do what needs to be done - I truly mean that as a compliment."
Before the Doctor could reply to this (it wasn’t an apology, but maybe they could still mend the bridges he’d thought torn down, maybe he could still reach the boy beneath the man), the Master yawned with great exaggeration.
“Well this has all been... Incredibly dull. Well the fighting was fun, but drivelling on about the past quite frankly makes me wish for more Daleks to show up. Son, could I have a word in private?”
The Seeker studied him blankly.
“Um, sure... Not sure there is such a thing as private - unless you want to nip into a TARDIS. Will a corner do?”
“Oh yes,” the Master replied, not put out in the least, and the Seeker followed, as the Doctor (with silent, but deep, satisfaction) noticed that the young man’s face had instantly adopted the long-suffering look he always wore when either the Doctor or the Master wanted to ‘have a word’ - meaning that he’d do his best to stay polite whilst silently counting the rels until they’d said their piece and he could tell whichever one it was that he definitely, absolutely, would think about it, yes, honestly, before escaping. When he’d been young he’d not coped very well with the two of them fighting over him, but age had allowed him to view the whole business with weary detachment.
Somehow it was more reassuring than anything else that day. Despite the heartbreak, the youngster had engaged with the Doctor, tried reasoning and explaining…
As he smiled at Clara, feeling optimistic that everything would yet work out, somehow (the boy might have grown into a man he barely recognised, but it was a man willing to at least listen) Roda stepped forward, grim faced and wary, with swift motions gathering them all.
When she spoke, voicing her fears, the Doctor’s brief spell of happiness vanished.
River looked unconvinced by Roda’s words of warning, but Jack was resolutely in Roda’s camp, and the Doctor could feel the pieces fall into place - after all he’d wondered why the Master had been so placid…
“Do you have any idea what exactly he might be planning?” he asked, as Clara hugged herself closer and clearly wanted to just go home. He couldn’t blame her - this was not what he had planned or promised.
Roda shook her head.
“It could be anything… Maybe he thinks the Toclafane can still be used as a fighting force, he probably isn’t aware of the paradox. Or he could have rigged something up in your TARDIS, you should double check everything. Twice. Or he might have sent a message to his lackeys on Earth - he’s been plotting something for a long time, posing as a politician. There’s a good chunk of unaccounted for time… He’ll probably want the Seeker to join in, today must have been like a godsend...”
But as Roda spoke, laying out possibilities, the Doctor found that her words faded away into a blur as he looked up and saw the Master and his son.
The Seeker’s weary resignation was evaporating as his father spoke, the look on his face slowly morphing into a strange breathless excitement that the Doctor had only seen once before, back when the boy had been sixteen and his father had gifted him his own planet.
And if the Doctor knew one thing is was this - the boy should never look like that when looking at his father.
The others noticed his silence and turned to see what he was looking at.
“What the hell is he saying to him?” Jack asked, as disturbed as the Doctor, as the Master reached out, kindly and concerned, laying a hand on his son’s arm, clearly making sure he was OK. The Seeker nodded, although he still looked so stunned that a feather could probably knock him over.
The Doctor, by now both deeply worried and angry, decided to take matters into his own hands and walked forwards.
“Master,” he said, voice low and serious. “Enough. I’m happy that you survived, obviously, but you could at least have the decency to wait more than 5 minutes before putting some new plan into action.”
The Master turned, studying him coolly - almost pityingly.
“Plan? What plan? Doctor dearest, you are completely misunderstanding the situation. I have no plan whatsoever. Indeed, I’ve thrown all the old ones out the window. You see, what I do have... is a son.”
Switching their attention to the younger Time Lord, the Master held up a hand.
“Please, give him a moment. I’ve just made all his dreams come true, I think he’ll need a minute or two to take it onboard.”
Indeed the Seeker was leaning against one of the dead Daleks, staring into nothingness, clearly a million miles away. Then, eyes narrowing a fraction, he whispered ‘Jerusalem’ to himself as the tiniest smile graced his lips. This made little sense, except the Doctor noticed how Jack seemed struck by the word... And then slowly shook his head, even as he swallowed, pale.
“No,” he whispered, eyes suddenly going wide. “No. No it can’t be. That’s… not possible.”
But he looked more disturbed than the Doctor had seen.
“Jack?”
But Jack was already striding over to the Seeker.
Reaching out, he almost shook the youngster, the hint of despair that the Doctor could see immensely unnerving.
“Seeker. Please. Please tell me this isn’t what I think it is.”
The Seeker slowly focussed on him, as if seeing him from far, far away, and then smiled. A wide, bright happy smile, almost breathtaking in its pure joy.
“It is - and it isn’t. It’s...” he looked up and round at them all, as if suddenly noticing that they were there:
“Let me show you!”
He jumped up, and in two strides was by the control panel where a swift tap freed Dalek Caan of its holding cell. It took them a moment to realise that this was what had happened, and by then the Seeker was almost skipping across the central space, before he knelt down by the deformed creature, one knee on the floor, as they all looked at each other, puzzled and worried. What the hell had the Master said?
“Dalek Caan, you wonderful creature,” the Seeker said, voice brimming with emotion. “There is a prophecy, a golden prophecy, bright and shining - you spoke part of it earlier, and I silenced you. I’m sorry, I didn’t understand. I’ve been running from it for centuries, never imagining a day like today... Tell them - tell them my name, my destiny.”
He reached up his hand, and the Dalek wrapped one of its tentacles around his fingers as he smiled...
The Seeker felt the Dalek wrap its tentacle around his hand, and he wondered if maybe he could read its thoughts. You shouldn’t know your future, and yet… What incredible secrets did Caan yet hold? (The Dalek had seen time - not just what could be, but what would be… Golden futures, past and present. Knowledge that might burn, but oh, it was a price worth paying.)
Although first he needed to make the others see. Show them that he wasn’t going mad, that it was real. Real and wonderful and possibly magical. (He felt giddy, as if drunk on the sheer idea of possibilities… Had felt like this before when grasped by a new idea, but never like this. Never on this scale.)
And then Caan spoke:
“As you wish Tsesarevich - Child of Two Worlds, Son of Empire. I have seen many things, terror and beauty. I have seen your power lighting the sky - shining. Much, much power, and all the worlds will know your name. You are the Alexander the Great. A Mighty King and Ruler across the universe. Yes. That is your destiny."
He stood, still grasping the Dalek. A Dalek had shown him the way. He had never foreseen this. Time… truly was a wonderful thing. The others (even Jack) looked shocked and angry and scared, but all he could hear was the Toclafane, singing, their voices reverberating through the hull of the Crucible...
We are the Toclafane
We are the saviours of worlds
We vanquished the Daleks in the Medusa Cascade
Our songs will live forever
(They could sing? He hadn’t known that… New things, new wonderful things wherever he turned. Everything he had ever known turning upside down in the blink of an eye; in a handful of sentences from his father...)
Reflecting on the familiar words of the prophecy (he’d had nightmares for so long, waking in the night, terrified of what his future might hold), he realised that he had (until now) always seen the seizing of power as something violent, forcefully imposing his will on others and bending them to his will. Or alternatively as something sly and stealthy, like the Archangel network. Controlling. Manipulative.
Neither option one he relished or wanted to embrace.
But now...
He was the saviour of worlds. The universe would tell of him - the Last Child of Gallifrey, a hero as if out of a fairy tale; a golden prince. Waiting quietly in the shadows until the appointed hour.
The path to the throne was paved for him, all he needed to do was step forward. Here I am, what do you want? It was his choice and they would welcome him.
Slowly re-focussing on the present, he found himself looking into the Doctor’s face.
The Doctor looked more serious than he could remember, his grey eyes watchful and dangerous. The way he looked at adversaries, unspoken threats filling the air between them. (Why would he look like that? Didn’t he understand? Couldn’t he see?)
“Seeker. Please tell me you’re not seriously considering taking over the universe.”
But in his mind the Seeker could see new time lines fanning out, too many to count, too many to grasp. It was so simple - he just had to stretch out his hand, and peace, prosperity, order would ripple out across all the worlds from his fingertips. The vision was seared into him, indelible and so stunningly beautiful that it almost hurt. (Truth hurts, that had been his first real lesson. But better pain, than a lie. Truth might hurt, but it also set you free.)
Time - all there was, all there would be. And his.
He met the Doctor’s eyes head-on, bright golden purpose filling him so completely he could barely breathe from pure joy.
“Why not? After all, it is my birthright...”
Chapter 7.
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(Also next chapter has been sent to me beta, so sometime next week... *crosses fingers*)
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Yay! ^_^ How have you been? RL still as busy?
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He's all - 'Look, my Toclafane!' Having to *explain* them is a lot more difficult...
Yay! ^_^ How have you been? RL still as busy?
I'm good, but busy. The kitchen is just about done - well about 85%. But there's still STUFF everywhere...
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Hahaha ♥
The kitchen is just about done - well about 85%. But there's still STUFF everywhere...
Good luck with everything!
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